


You're My Man Of War

by Zigzagwanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Evil Darlings, Feelings Realization, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Kylux - Freeform, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn, Prompt Fill, Roleplay, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer
Summary: From this prompt on Tumblr (softkyluxkinks) (Kind of).Hux has been single for his entire 34 year existence. He doesn't even bother trying to flirt anymore since he doubts anyone would want to deal with his inexperience. During an argument about battle strategy Kylo remarks that Hux needs to get laid so he can relax. Furious, Hux turns red and leaves the room. When he goes to find out what happened Hux drunkenly remarks on his virgin stats. Kylo agrees to become his wingman. But watching Hux flirt with other people is harder than Kylo thought.(Title, as always, from Radiohead.)





	You're My Man Of War

**Author's Note:**

> For the amazing Boysnextdoor, of course.

1.

“So, is this seat taken?” 

Hux doesn’t deign to turn around, the ignorant asshole, so Ren gets to admire the back of his head. 

The cantina lighting is dim; shadows slither, encouraging liberties to be taken, so Ren allows himself the luxury of really _looking_. 

Hux is straight-backed and elegant, even when he’s distraught.

Ren wonders; is it sensitive, that coppery stubble, back of those annoyingly neat ears, where the strictly regulation haircut gives way to that taut white arch of neck? 

What noises would Hux make, if Ren ever got to scratch his fingernails right _there?_

If he ever got to move his mouth, slowly, over that downy, spiky hairline, murmuring all the bad things he wants them to do together.

“Drop the ridiculous accent, your lordship, I am not about to role-play pick-up techniques with you.” Hux stubs out his thin cigar and doesn’t look up. “A good soldier knows when to admit defeat, don’t you agree?” 

Hux is as familiar, by now, with the slow, dark stretch of his co-commander's voice, as he is with his own clipped bark. They certainly argue enough to make it so. 

But tonight, as part of whatever idiotic game he’s playing, it isn’t just Ren’s intonation that’s different.

He even smells…new. 

Nice. 

Instead of Ren’s signature stench; sabre, sweat and somebody else’s blood, there’s a sweet sort of spiciness to him. The low, musky notes go straight to Hux’s groin, and against his will he glowers over his shoulder. 

“Find some other company,” Hux orders, coldly. “We’ve already established that I do not have the skills for this sort of…warfare.” 

Ren shrugs and keeps sliding, with less slouch and more sensuality than usual, onto the empty chair at Hux’s elbow. From Snoke-knows-where, Ren has also found clothing that is neither combat apparel or training kit. Black silks that fit his form.

Emphasise it, even. 

The top two buttons of the shirt are not done up.

Hux determinedly swigs his wine. He never said that Ren wasn’t a fine specimen. Just a loutish, insufferable one, to boot. 

“Are you planetside for the weaponry auction?” Ren perseveres, keeping in character, keeping a gentlemanly distance away.

It is Hux that leans in a little, ostensibly to hear whatever nonsense Ren is up to this time. His arm brushes Ren’s arm. Neither pulls away. 

“That’s confidential,” Hux snaps, chin up, goaded into participation. 

“Let me guess, though,” Ren continues with the make-believe, looking over Hux with respectful hunger. “Military man, am I right?”

Hux grunts, sarcastically, although he warms beneath Ren’s gaze. 

He has retreated back into the starched shell of his regular uniform, after all. 

It is specifically designed to threaten, to make him unapproachable. 

And Ren is the only person Hux knows who has _never_ taken the hint.

 

2.

The mission to rid Hux of his virginity begins with a betrayal. 

And gets worse from there.

The mighty Lord Ren, pale and panicked, finally catches up with General Hux in the officer’s mess hall. 

Ren hates it in there. Hux doesn’t. 

But fuck knows it’s tough enough to get Hux to take meal breaks as it is, so that’s where they tend to go. 

This time, Ren has _flown_ through the corridors to get there. He has forgotten about his mask. 

He has just alienated the only person in the entire galaxy that he can actually, unfathomably, tolerate. 

He approaches the booth they always sit at, strategically placed so that they can bitch about everyone who isn’t them. 

“Look. You channel your…energy into your ambitions, Hux. I get it.”

The General is slumped there already, and Ren shoves himself in alongside, underneath the hideous static holo of some fucking incredible First Order victory. 

Hux wasn’t in that one so Ren couldn’t care less about it. 

“I mean,” Ren risks a sideways glance. “When would you even find the time to…liaise with anyone? You with your routine and all?”

Hux makes no comment about Ren’s own lack of organisation, constant tardiness, or the lazy hours he devotes to washing his hair.

So Ren starts to worry away at his bottom lip. 

He thinks about their chess games, that end, quite often, and quite satisfyingly, in violent altercations. 

The high-end protein bars Hux requisitions especially for Ren, after he’s been fasting, accommodating the expense by cutting out something trivial from the budget. Like trooper rations. 

The trophies Ren brings Hux back from Snoke’s esoteric expeditions; the skulls of their enemies and exotic weaponry and other weird shit, all of which Hux _adores_. 

The reflective silences they share after each glorious conquest, where they have wine, which Hux drinks for both of them, and stare out into space, shoulder to shoulder, peerless in their stately black. 

All that will certainly be withdrawn, if Ren doesn’t make this right. 

Ren is all Hux has too, but he’s not above being a vindictive prick when it suits him.

Hux makes an effort and almost ignores the way Ren has bruised his own mouth with his big, ugly teeth. It’s full and red, as if from kissing, and Hux genuinely wants to run and hide from Ren in that moment. 

And he hasn’t felt like that about him in a very long time. 

Being outed as pure, unwanted and maidenly, during a battle strategy meeting should be bad enough. 

That _Ren_ thoughtlessly committed the treason is devastating for reasons Hux won’t think about until he’s finished the second bottle of rosé. 

Ren crowds Hux with his bulk and takes a sip from Hux’s glass. As usual. Then he pulls a face at the taste. As usual. Hux is supposed to roll his eyes at this point, because he always does, but instead he shakes his head. 

“My...inexperience is not due to scheduling conflicts, you fool.” Hux mutters. He should cut Ren out of his life completely for showing him such disrespect. He would certainly have fewer headaches that way. The twitch in his right eye might even resolve itself. “And your celibacy seems to be elective, for whatever pseudo-religious reasons you are deluded enough to believe in." Hux tries to look disapproving but just looks wounded. “The ship is always echoing with rumours about you knights and your sexual... practices. The...dalliances you may or may not be indulging in."

Hux is drunk. Most couldn’t tell, but Ren has tucked him into his bunk and told him to shut the fuck up enough times to know. 

“For me it’s become…habitual. I just wouldn’t know how to go about…dallying.” 

“I could show you.” Ren offers. Then stares at the wine as though it’s truth serum.

“What did you say?” Hux stops trying to light his cigar with Ren’s lightsabre handle.

“Uh. I sometimes…think…that we…should…” Ren can feel his scar itching as his face heats up.

“You would help me? To find a lover?” Hux interrupts quietly, raising his eyebrows, which are reddish golden, like when a sun explodes or something. 

Ren aches to crawl all over Hux. 

He wants, desperately, to hold his hand. 

He wants Hux to do incredibly dirty things to him with his pretty tongue.

But, instead, Ren clicks his knuckles and knocks over an ashtray. 

Hux clears his throat. “Well. I believe that _wingman_ is the correct term for that kind of social assistance?”

“Uh…actually, I kind of actually meant…”

Then Hux does an odd thing, and smiles. 

Not because Ren just cut some rebel in half using a cool, show-off Force move, which is one of the few ways to get his General to properly grin, but because, for some unknown reason, he perhaps imagines that Ren is being a friend. 

It’s a sad smile, as if he’s being given a special gift that he doesn’t truly want, but Ren is unable to process the subtlety of it right there and then. 

Because he has just realised, too late to salvage the situation, that he doesn’t want Hux to be a _friend_. 

Not _just_ a friend. 

Not really. 

Not at all. 

 

3.

They go to a gala.

The whole crew calls Hux names behind his back. Obviously. None of them are designed to flatter, but they all reflect a certain icy strength, and Hux actively encourages one or two of them.

Thus, Ren convinces himself that _General Hoth Pants_ will likely continue to be incompetent where romance is concerned, because he is meant to be predictable and frigid.

Then he sees _General Hoth Pants_ in his bespoke formal dress uniform. Circulating amongst dignitaries and gangsters, severe and courtly and desirable. 

“Of course they’re real medals, you ignorant dolt,” Hux frowns and knocks Ren’s curious hand away. “I’m a decorated war criminal.”

Hux is taking a break from the ballroom, but not, Ren mourns silently, from being dashing or irresistible. 

The cocktail he’s holding has brought a flush to his brutal cheekbones and emphasised his graceful swagger, but there is still that cool edge to his eyes, deadly as always. 

He is a razor, concealed in snow-white silk; he’s poison, made addictive and delectable. 

And he’s so busy playing all the other guests off against each other that he can’t see that he could probably have any of them that he chose. 

Ren commandeers them a balcony. He wants to keep Hux all to himself, but knows that he can’t, because Snoke wants weapons, not emotionally fulfilled underlings. 

Ren also understands, now, that he wants to fuck Hux and make him deliriously happy for the rest of his life, but he’s more or less certain that’s not going to happen either. 

“This is not me _flirting for the First Order_ , either, thank you very much,” Hux explains. He neatens Ren’s cloak for him, combs back Ren’s wayward hair with his fingers. Tilts his head to one side and the hard line of his lips softens in approval.

Ren _glows_. 

“This is business. Tedious but essential. Of course I would rather be off somewhere with you, getting some exercise and oppressing people and whatnot, but we need those plasma cannons.”

He forgives Ren for sulking his way through the fundraiser in the same way he has always forgiven him for never having bothered to attend one before. 

From their many conversations, and the things Ren doesn’t articulate very coherently, Hux has the feeling that sycophantic aristocrats remind Ren, painfully, of his childhood. 

Hux would enjoy nothing more than to personally wring the necks of any Skywalkers still extant, just to bring Ren a little closure. Their behaviour towards Ren has been _beyond the pale_.

“Have you…uh…been working out?” 

“What in Snoke’s name is wrong with you tonight, Ren? We work out together every other bloody day.” Hux squints, then sighs. “Does his lordship have yet another head injury I need to know about?”

“No. It’s just that your jacket’s a little tight.” Ren reaches for the cuff, to make an adjustment. “There.” 

The entire sleeve comes off in his hands. Because he pulled, really, really hard. “Uh. Do you have another?”

Ren tucks it back into place. “Maybe no-one will notice?”

Hux brings out the kind of stare that would combust Mitaka where he stood. “Fortunately for you, I have a _private interview_ with the Emissary himself in just a moment. If your advice holds, I doubt that the state of my clothing will be a problem, only how quickly it can be removed.” 

And then he _winks._

It’s horrifying.

“Oh. Right.” Ren presumes he would not be allowed to murder the entire Hutt entourage. “That’s so amazing. Just let me tell you a few good things to say.” 

He improvises. 

“Well, I suppose that’s why you’re here.” 

Hux takes notes. 

“And these phrases are considered to be…witty? And alluring?”

“Uh, sure,” Ren says. “They’ll seal the deal. And those military anecdotes you tell me? After shift is over? Do some of those. The longer, and more detailed, the better.”

Hux looks out across the floating city, suddenly shy. “Aren’t they rather…dull, those old war stories?”

“No,” Ren lies. “They’re just fine.”

Funny thing is, that to Ren, they really are. 

Not the tales, which are both preposterous and boring.

But when Hux regales Ren with the bygone adventures of his favourite tyrants, he is boyish and carefree, and forgets himself, and lets Ren rest his head in his lap.

Those times…are very fine indeed. 

“Ah, Armitage, dearest.” The Hutt envoy sidles out onto the balcony and smears himself between Ren and Hux. “Don’t forget we have a date.”

“Don’t forget we have an exclusive trade deal.” Hux punches one of the creature’s many tattooed nodules. Playfully. Although it must have hurt. 

Ren knows that Hux boxed for his Academy.

“I was just consulting with my security detail.” Hux gives Ren a grateful, nervous little nod and steps away from him. “A dreadful crime may have occurred.”

Hux does his best to look coy. 

Ren feels as though he might be sick.

Hux leans up to whisper into what he hopes is one of the ambassador’s ears.

“It seems _somebody_ around here may well have stolen my heart.” 

 

4\. 

The cantina seethes with people hooking up. It’s in the air, virulent, and feverish, like a contagion. 

“Pleased to meet you. I’m….Ben.” Ren blinks. He doesn’t know why he said that name. It’s a giving-away he thought he’d never do. With anyone. But it’s done and he’s said it and he’s not bleeding.

But that’s Hux all over, Ren thinks. Taking away pieces of the bitterness inside Ren, and replacing them with confidence, and hopefulness, even if Hux doesn’t know he’s doing it. 

“Look. Honestly, I am simply not in the mood…”

“Hux. Just try, ok? The whole Hutt thing yesterday was unfortunate, the official complaint and the embassy burning down and those deaths. But it goes to show you need practice. Think of it as doing full platoon drills or whatever.”

There’s a very, very pensive silence. Across the other side of the gladiator pit, the synesthesic jazz plays with darkest blue plaintiveness. The roof dissolves away, and the night is velvet, and sparkling with promise.

Finally, Hux nods. He doesn’t know why he’s agreeing to join in with such a farce.

He’s never shone at these types of training exercises, and any charade where he lets Ren seduce him is impossibly complicated; the truth pretending to be a lie, pretending to be the truth. 

But that’s Ren all over, Hux realises. Making him try harder, to be better, without even knowing he’s doing it.

“So.” Ren waves at the droid for more of what Hux is having. “We’ve established that you’re a warrior.”

He turns and puts his arm around Hux’s shoulders. 

Hux stops breathing.

“I'm...a...magician.” Ren is much closer than he intended to be for his lame parlour trick. Hux has eyes which are the greenest Ren has ever seen. With an unsteady hand Ren pulls an old Imperial credit chip from Hux’s lapel, complete with a mock-humorous flourish. “Well, will you look at that.”

It’s one of the few frivolous things his uncle ever taught him. 

He makes the chip disappear again with a twitch of the wrist. “I can see you’re a tough audience to impress.” 

He takes a big drink. Doesn’t pull a face. In reality, Ren’s grown to appreciate Hux’s appetites in everything. 

They are bewilderingly compatible, and Ren is beginning to wish they had never met. 

Hux stares at his reflection in the mirrorpool that ripples across one wall. 

Carnivorous amoeba float through it, nipping at one another, clouding the surface with bursts of colourful death. His image shimmers amongst them, bleak and unsmiling. 

He is aware that he has been terribly spoiled, of course. He hasn’t needed anyone else to fill his time, he hasn’t felt lonely of late, because he’s had the chaos of Ren to contend with. 

Troublesome, complicated, unutterably lovely Ren. 

“That’s the problem.” Hux exhales. “I am difficult to please. Only one person has ever...enchanted me, and as they do not reciprocate my…feelings…” 

“What?” 

“It’s quite alright, Ren. I am…impossibly exacting.”

Ren shakes his head. “You challenge, Hux. Yourself, and those around you.” 

“I’m aggressively ambitious. Arrogant.”

“You’re driven. Aspiring. Indomitable.”

“I’m going to be…alone, always. I thought I didn’t mind, until.…well, it doesn’t matter.” 

Hux pats his hands down on the bar. There’s a kind of finality to it that breaks a part of Ren he didn’t know existed. “Solitary devotion to the Order is as good a destiny as any, wouldn’t you say?”

Ren stares at him. 

“Not…necessarily.” He swallows. Puts the accent back on. “Did I mention I’m only in this system for one night?”

Then he reaches up and strokes along one high, haughty cheekbone. His hand shakes a little. 

Hux gradually moves into the caress, closing his eyes.

It all happens silently, with an unreal, slow-motion, suspended quality that leaves Ren utterly spellbound.

And him, a fucking Force wizard. 

“Hux. Please, let me have you,” he whispers, his breathing uneven.

The General turns fully into Ren’s palm.

It’s clear, even to Ren, that the thing to do would be to bring up his other hand to hold Hux’s head steady. So that he can kiss his stupid beautiful face.

Ren does those things.

The holding thing. The kissing.

And oh, Hux tastes good. Of smoke and wine and whatever dessert he ate instead of a proper meal. 

“Fuck.” Ren can’t stop. All his longing melts down into that one, wet, endless motion; Hux licking in, his lips sliding against Ren’s mouth, his jaw, his earlobe.

Hux’s hands are in Ren’s hair so quickly that it’s something he’s clearly considered doing _a lot_. And he pulls on it really gently, as the kiss gets deeper. Ren mutters something. It gets desperate. So slick and satisfying, yet not enough. Not enough at all.

Hux can distantly hear himself humming, almost imperceptibly, in kind of a purr. 

Ren wants to record it. Have it on a loop. Do his circuit training with that noise as a motivational soundtrack. 

“Fuck. Your mouth. So warm. Fuck.” Ren pulls away so he can see that it isn’t just him that’s falling through space.

It isn’t.

“I want you. Ben.” Hux states it so clearly and firmly, adhering to the rules of the game, that Ren smiles. 

“Fuck. Yeah? You do?” 

“Yeah.” Hux mimics him. “Fuck, as you so rightly say.”

“Then…maybe I could…come to your room?” 

“Yes,” Hux says, simply, “then I want you to come in me.” 

 

5.

Hux is a flower, opening up around Ren’s fingers, his tongue. 

It takes them a while to get there. 

Ren holds himself back. He knows about torture, perhaps too much, and this is the most divine agony ever. 

They kiss. And kiss. Hux takes Ren’s shirt off and lays his hands on all those scars with a dazed look that Ren will never forget.

“This must be a dream.” Hux is so serious and dedicated about his touching that Ren wants to cry. “Will you undress me now?”

Ren is dizzy. “Tell me if I’m going too fast.” He licks everything he uncovers. The ridge of a collar-bone. The hollows of a ribcage. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Hux arches languorously, pliant with desire. “Do _not_ stop.”

“I saw you around the cantina.” Ren sucks each nipple, softly. “Wanted you. So badly. You look so mean and handsome and uppity. But you’re always with that idiot Sith boy. No-one can get near you with that monster hanging off your coat-tails.”

“He’s not Sith, Ben.” Hux corrects automatically, because Ren always does. “He’s…unique.”

He passes his fingers through Ren’s hair. Gasps as Ren starts flicking his tongue. “And that…idiot…has been trying to be…useful.”

Then he doesn’t talk for a while. Ren is biting lower, sucking on his hipbones, bruising and branding the inside of his thighs.

His fingernails speak for him; he digs into Ren’s shoulders, can all but smell the blood well up. Hopes he is adding marks of his own.

Ren wants to eat Hux. Swallow him whole. He lowers his head to the root of Hux’s cock and licks his way back up. 

“Stars above, Kylo,” Hux growls. “No more missions away from home for you.”

Ren pauses. Disentangles himself.

“Listen. I…I…sabotaged your…date.” 

“Hmm?”

“Set you up to fail, at the gala.” It’s all Ren can do not to worship Hux even as he confesses; all that strength, all that delicacy, laid out for him, immaculate. “I’d do it again, Hux. I’m not sorry at all.”

“Kylo,” Hux has lashes of rose gold. He looks up at Ren through them and begins unbuckling his belt. “I’m not a bloody halfwit. I’m the rising star of the greatest dictatorship the universe will ever see.”

“Oh. So…?”

“I knew. Yes.” Hux gets Ren’s trousers open. Looks greedily at Ren’s big, stiff cock. “I didn’t want anyone else to have me either.”

He pulls Ren back down, kisses him and groans to feel Ren’s weight press him into the bed. “Now fuck me, my most beloved burden. _If_ you don’t mind.”

And Ren does what his General wants.

But he takes his time about it.

Everything is dripping, slippery, shiny. Ren’s mouth, chin, fingers. Hux’s cock and hole and belly. 

Ren has had Hux swearing. Spreading himself wide. He may even have prayed for mercy at some point.

Now Ren wipes the sweaty hair out of his face and pushes further in.

“Kylo. You were right.” Hux is panting. He adjusts his legs around Ren’s waist. “You are a _monster_.”

“Wish you could see this.” It’s wonderfully obscene, the way he stretches Hux. He pulls out a little. “Is that..? I mean is it…ok?”

“Do I look like I’m not enjoying it, your lordship?” Hux grits his teeth. “Put it back in. All of it. Immediately.”

Ren narrows his eyes. 

“As you command.”

And he takes hold of Hux and fucks him _hard_.

And as deep as he can make it. 

Because he can.

“I hate you.” Hux braces his arm against the wall.

“I know.” Ren pulls Hux’s ankle up higher.

In retaliation, Hux spits on his palm to pleasure himself and makes Ren watch as he moans and writhes and matches Ren’s thrusts.

They glare affectionately at one another. 

And the first time isn’t meant to last, because nothing that perfect can.

So they come, and then marvel at how _much_ there is.

Hux glories in the mess they’ve made, sly and smug and sore.

“We’ll need adjoining quarters, a more generous water allocation,” he says eventually, thoughtfully, scheming. “And I may need a few new nicknames.” 

Ren is still holding him, sticky or no, coaxing from Hux yet more exhausted kisses.

He mouths along Hux’s hot spine. Up towards that arousing, abrasive hairline. He sighs in Hux’s ear. “Do you feel different, now? That you’re no longer a virgin?”

“Hmm.” Hux reaches behind him and runs a knowing finger around the head of Ren’s cock. 

Despite all the rumours that encircle the knight, Hux can always tell when a combatant has been battle-tested before. Or not. 

Ren may have _dallied_ in the past, but he has never done _that_. 

“I’m not sure…” He kisses Ren sweetly. “Do you?”


End file.
